


Phantoms

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Caning, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Unrequited Javert/Rivette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Rivette's mouth tightens. He's pretty like that, Despiat can't help thinking. God help him, but he really has it bad, and for a police spy at that. It's not right that a police spy should have such sad eyes and a mouth that's always longing to smile but is so rarely given an occasion to.





	Phantoms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kainosite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/gifts).

“You know it’s not right.”

Rivette doesn’t even look at him as he tiredly hangs his coat and hat up by the door. He looks tired. It’s late.

Despiat bets that Rivette hasn’t even dared to point that out to his boss.

“What was it today? Another phantom that might have been his favorite convict?”

“Not now, Despiat.” Rivette comes towards the chair where Despiat has been sitting, waiting for him for nearly three hours.

Despiat narrows his eyes at the way Rivette moves. Is he limping?

“What happened?”

When Rivette meets his eyes at last, who looks embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I messed up.”

_Again._ He doesn’t say it, but Despiat knows it’s what he’s thinking.

“Another thief that slipped through your fingers? A murderer you didn’t find? Or let me guess—a certain ex-convict who wasn’t where an informer claimed to see him?”

Rivette’s mouth tightens. He’s pretty like that, Despiat can’t help thinking. God help him, but he really has it bad, and for a police spy at that. It’s not right that a police spy should have such sad eyes and a mouth that’s always longing to smile but is so rarely given an occasion to.

Javert’s certainly made sure that Rivette’s mouth is grateful for anything Despiat gives him, from kisses to a dick to suck on. Most days Despiat can even believe that it isn’t Javert Rivette is thinking of when his mouth is busy beneath the blanket.

Now, though, Rivette’s mouth is drawn into a stubborn line, his shoulders hunched even more than usual.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Despiat feels vaguely sick at how easy it is to poke at the wound, and how he can’t keep from doing it. “You’ve disappointed him again, and this time you finally got what you’ve always wanted.”

It shouldn’t upset _him_—he’s always known who Rivette is. But the thought of Chief Inspector Javert laying hands on Rivette, who might be a police spy but who’s in his own way just as much in need of support as any other man Despiat has met, kindles a flame of anger inside him.

“Gave you a thrashing, didn’t he? With that fancy cane of his?”

Despiat is out of his chair, stalking towards Rivette who looks strangely out of his depth. Rivette’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak; a moment later, his eyes slide guiltily away and there’s a flush on his cheeks that reveals as much as words would.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rivette says a moment later, but he still doesn’t look at Despiat. “He wouldn’t.”

“Hmm.”

Usually Rivette puts up more of a fight when Despiat insults his adored boss. He’s strangely passive today. Despiat is certain that he knows what sort of mood that is—and Javert isn’t here to take advantage of it.

Firmly, he grabs hold of Rivette’s collar, the way he thinks Chief Inspector Javert would do it.

“I think he would,” Despiat says. “With a man who’s a constant disappointment to him, I think he would do _this_.”

Just like that, he pushes Rivette forward until Rivette is bent across his table.

Despiat looks around—he doesn’t have a cane, but surely someone like Rivette would keep his cane close to his uniform...

He spies it a moment later, leaning against the wall in a corner close to Rivette’s boots. He strides over to grab it, and when he returns, Rivette is still bent over the table, although he’s straightened a little in token protest.

Despiat snorts and firmly pushes him back down. Rivette doesn’t even put up much protest. Should it please him? He isn’t certain.

It certainly doesn’t please Despiat to know that this is how eagerly Rivette would bend over for his Chief.

Putting his frustration to a more productive use, Despiat roughly opens Rivette’s trousers, just enough to be able to push them down. He shoves Rivette’s shirttails out of the way.

Rivette’s arse is nice to look at, pale and firm and with just enough of a roundness to it that he’s always tempted to grab hold of it and squeeze it as he fucks him. Most importantly, he can see now that Rivette’s skin is unmarked. The slight limp must have been the result of whatever went wrong for him today.

The revelation doesn’t actually change anything. After all they both know that Rivette wishes Javert had taken his cane to him.

Despiat grabs hold of Rivette’s wrists with his left hand, gathering them together to press them against the small of his back. With his right, Despiat lifts the slender cane of black wood.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he says, and then he allows the cane to fall down.

Rivette gasps, the soft skin of his arse turning a pretty pink where the cane has struck.

Despiat laughs at the sight and hits him again. “Doesn’t seem to be what he wants, but I can’t see why.”

It does surprise him that Javert hasn’t taken advantage. It doesn’t take a lot to see just how utterly besotted Rivette is. Perhaps Javert has no interest in men like Rivette—though then certainly Javert wouldn’t have kept him so close for so long.

Despiat tightens his grip on the cane, raining down more blows onto Rivette’s arse until Rivette is gasping and wriggling beneath his hold, the pale skin a tapestry of pink and red. Rivette’s breath comes in breathless little gasps that are thick with tears—but even now Rivette hasn’t fought him, not seriously.

He was right. This is what Rivette’s been hoping for all along.

Or perhaps Rivette’s still harboring hope for a gentler treatment, a grateful Chief appreciating a dutiful subordinate—though given what Despiat has heard of Javert’s temper, this might indeed be the more realistic scenario.

Well, Despiat might not be who Rivette really wants, but he can certainly give him _what_ he wants.

And maybe, in time, Rivette might even see that what he wants isn’t what he needs or deserves… 

Even in the middle of whatever it is they are playing, Despiat can’t bite back a bitter smile. It’s not going to happen. He’s just as lost in his dreams as Rivette is.

With what’s going on, with what he’s planning to do, he can’t allow himself to have feelings for a police spy. Where is this going to end? Nowhere good, for neither of them.

Still, he can’t end it either. Maybe, in time, Rivette might come around and see...

Rivette is sobbing softly, his arse red. Despiat’s arm is starting to tire.

He turns the cane around, using the silver-coated tip to tease between Rivette’s buttocks. Despite the hot welts covering sensitive skin, Rivette’s legs part willingly. Despiat runs the cane up his crease, nudges Rivette’s hole.

“Is that what you dreamed of?” he murmurs, leaning over Rivette.

In answer, Rivette gasps, his eyes closed and his cheeks wet, shuddering under Despiat as he gasps, “Sir.”

Even knowing what he knows about Rivette, he can’t help the bitter pang of disappointment.

“That’s right,” he says regardless. He drops the cane; he wants no more of Javert in this room. Instead, he frees his own cock and spits into his hand to slick himself up. It isn’t a lot, but knowing Rivette, he won’t mind.

He’s right. Rivette moans when he pushes in, even though he’s tight and it has to be uncomfortable. But Rivette’s buttocks are hot against Despiat’s skin when he’s finally buried inside him, and when he begins to thrust, Rivette makes low, breathless noises

Despiat keeps fucking him the way he imagines Rivette wants it, the way he imagines a Chief Inspector who’s happy to use his subordinate without ever really looking at him would use him. But even now there’s an insidious voice inside him that whispers that if he can just _show_ Rivette that Javert’s taking advantage of him, that he doesn’t deserve to have his loyalty used in such a way, Rivette will finally understand and see what must be done to change things. Not just for him, for Despiat, but for all of them, everywhere.

It doesn’t work that way. He knows that. Rivette’s going to have to see it on his own—and maybe he will, one day.

Despiat fears Rivette won’t. Not until Javert, careless as all men with power, has squandered a thing he’s never appreciated or done anything to deserve.

Rivette’s going to die one day on one of his Chief’s mad hunts for the convict he’s obsessed with—or he’s going to tire of Javert eventually and leave the Prefecture.

Despiat hopes it’s the latter. He doesn’t pray, but every desperate thrust into the body spread out below him in a surrender that isn’t his is as good as a prayer.

When he finds his release, the way Javert so easily could, he doesn’t pull out and turn away to abandon his subordinate there on the desk. Instead, Despiat leans forward, presses his sweat-slick cheek to Rivette’s back, breathes a desperate kiss into his hair.

It’s not going to be long now. He can feel it in his blood. The city’s unhappy.

No, it’s going to happen very soon.

Either way, it’s all going to be over for them soon enough.


End file.
